


Ivory

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cormac takes his Colin wedding dress shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivory

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My entry for August’s Daily Deviant. It’s not properly British. This is loosely based off Say Yes To The Dress.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

The storefront itself is huge, grand and glittering, with bridal gowns in the windows that probably cost more than their whole apartment. Price isn’t something Cormac’s planning to concern himself with today, half because he still doesn’t get Muggle pricing anyway, and half because Colin deserves _the best_.

Colin squeals excitedly when Cormac pulls the door open for him, but Colin’s parents are clearly begrudging when they follow inside. Cormac’s the one to go to the receptionist—he’s the one that made the appointment, the one that wanted this. He’s told their consultant will be along shortly and joins his party on the couch. Colin sits between his mother and Cormac, his bright eyes looking happily around while his parents fight to hide their obvious scowls. They’ve never liked Cormac much, and putting their son in a dress isn’t helping, but he doesn’t particularly care about their gender ideals or personal tastes—he never bothered to learn their names, anyway. In around eight months, Colin’s going to be all _his_ , and he’ll be Colin’s true family, a ring serving for proof that the other two here are officially unnecessary. 

While they wait for their appointment to start, Cormac reverts to his usual time-wasting tactics. He slips his hand behind them, always sure to sit close enough to Colin that no one can see, and slides right into Colin’s trousers. Colin’s breath hitches, but otherwise, he doesn’t pause, just leans further back into the couch and continues eying the ostentatious lobby of the bridal salon. He’s used to Cormac fingering him in public, because what Cormac wants, Cormac _takes_ , and Colin’s always eager to give into him. Cormac gets a sick satisfaction out of stroking Colin’s crack with his parents nearby, no one the wiser. It’s too easy to rub Colin’s little hole and press hard enough to pop one dry fingertip inside. Cormac had too much fun this morning showering Colin off and hissing dirty things into his ear about how delectable he’d look in a wedding dress, how fun it would be to unwrap him on their wedding night. Colin, usually the photographer on the other side, swooned in Cormac’s arms. Cormac’s the professional supermodel, and Colin’s always the one praising his looks. For once, Cormac’s giving the compliments the other way around. 

He retracts his finger from his fiancé’s hole when the consultant shows up, offering the other hand to her to shake. A tall, dark women with thick curls dressed in a nondescript black dress, she turns to Colin’s mother and asks rhetorically, “Is this my lovely bride?”

“Nope,” Cormac corrects, tossing one arm around his blushing groom. “This is.” Colin smiles sheepishly, shrinking into Cormac’s arm, even though he’s extraverted and bubbly most of the time. Most of the time, he knows he’ll get to keep his trousers, even under robes.

Muggle wedding dresses aren’t quite like robes, but they’re close enough for it to pass with Cormac’s parents. Cormac himself doesn’t care, just wants to have his significant other walk down the isle in the most expensive, gorgeous clothing possible. The consultant quickly hides her surprise and smiles at Colin like it’s no difference, chirping, “Oh! Are we looking at white suits or gowns?”

Before Colin can answer, Cormac says, “Gowns.”

Colin’s father butts in, “A suit might be nice—”

But Colin, reacting to the subtle squeeze of Cormac’s fingers around his shoulder, tells the consultant, “I’d like to try gowns.” Cormac doesn’t bother trying to contain his smirk. He kisses Colin’s cheek for a reward, and Colin absolutely beams. It’s probably the only reason Colin’s parents agreed to come: their son is clearly happy, made happier in the extra attention this appointment’s getting him. Cormac _knows_ he can be difficult, that he’s arrogant and expects the world, but Colin fawns over him anyway and is just as quirky—no one can deny they’re a perfect fit, however strange.

The consultant guides them back into the salon, out from the lobby and into a sea of white: white floors, white walls, a high, elaborate white ceiling, and wrapped gowns hanging everywhere and modeled on manikins that, to Cormac’s bemusement, neither hover nor move at all. There are tons of nooks carved out of the wedding-dress hedge maze, each sporting curved couches and circular pedestals in front of full-length mirrors. As Cormac and Colin’s parents are ushered onto the couch, the consultant tells them, “So, my name’s Luna—” Cormac and Colin share a knowing look that goes completely over Colin’s parents’ heads, “and what may I call my lovely groom?”

“Colin,” Colin chirps, then bustles on, getting more into his regular groove of talking almost as much as Cormac looks in a mirror, “And this is Cormac, my fiancé, and my mother and father.”

“Your fiancé,” the consultant, who bears no resemblance to Luna Lovegood other than her name and easy acceptance of the unusual, asks, “is he staying for the appointment?”

Colin nods, and Cormac throws in, though it’s obvious, “We’re not a traditional couple.”

The consultant laughs. “Of course. And what budget are you looking to stay under?”

Colin looks at Cormac with his pretty big eyes fluttering; he knows he’s just along for the ride, and Cormac in the driver’s seat. Cormac, having no idea what wedding gowns cost and even less idea what that cost will translate to in galleons, answers, “There is no budget.”

Colin looks like he’s going to _melt_ with happiness. Colin grew up poor and never spends as much as Cormac does, and Cormac, technically, makes more money modeling than Colin does with his photography, but it’s still _their_ money. Colin still looks like Cormac’s given him a great gift, or at least deemed him worthy of one.

“And styles?” The consultant asks. “Have you done any other shopping?” 

Colin shakes his head, tossing blond curls too and fro in his excitement, and Cormac says, “I’d like to see some ball gowns.” Maybe just to annoy the parents sitting on his other side, Cormac adds with an affectionate pat to Colin’s rear, “He’s my princess.”

He can feel the glares boring holes into the side of his head and doesn’t care one bit. Colin’s mother’s a plain thing—she probably looked hideous on her ‘big’ day and probably wore something out of the discount bin. Colin’s father wouldn’t have looked half as striking as Cormac will. 

As the consultant announces, “Well, then, let’s get shopping!” Colin bends to press a quick kiss to Cormac’s lips. Then Luna’s guiding him off, and Cormac turns to grin triumphantly at the two people he shares a couch with. He knows, from reading as many fashion magazines as he does, that a mother’s opinion usually matters for the gown, and Cormac allowed them to come for Colin’s sake. But he also knows his Colin will go home with whatever Cormac likes, even if his mother hates it, and that thought is vindictively reassuring. Colin’s father looks halfway between resigned and murderous.

They don’t say anything for the surprisingly long time it takes for Colin to emerge again. Cormac knew it would take a while—this is one of London’s largest shops and will have to sort through that collection, then will have to take the time to clip Colin into a sample dress doubtless not his size or made for his body. Eventually, Colin emerges from the back wall, weaving out through the other busy areas; Cormac catches that familiar radiance in the corner of his eye and turns to see Colin coming.

The ball gown is _huge_ , with a tulle skirt that Colin has to hold up to walk in. Luna helps him onto the pedestal, and he looks at himself in the mirror, the back all exposed with large, white clips holding excess fabric together. Then he turns to smile at his audience, and Cormac can’t contain his smile.

He looks _adorable_. It doesn’t look quite _right_ , obviously designed for someone with curves, but it’s still princess-y, and Colin would look good in anything. The top is silk organza, cut in a sweetheart neckline, the waistband beaded with crystals and a floral pattern. A single pickup rests on the side of the skirt, sporting a glimmering white rose.

Colin asks his parents, “Well?” but they both know the question’s really for Cormac.

“Honey, it’s...” His mother starts, but she just sort of trails off. 

Cormac crosses his arms, settling back in the couch, and declares, “You look cute, babe.”

Colin smiles at Cormac and blushes, then looks down and shimmies his hips a little, making the tulle skirt beneath the silk-organza pickup do a light twirl. Cormac could easily imagine tossing Colin onto a hotel bed in that, bunching up the skirt and fucking him all over a hotel suite, leaving ripped bits of fluttering fabric everywhere. Cormac would _destroy_ that delicate design and leave Colin all the more debauched for it.

The consultant starts to explain, “This is one of our newer dresses, fresh from the runway—it’s by—”

But for all Cormac’s stereotypically masculine clothes and mannerisms, he already knows everything she could possibly tell him and interrupts, “Maybe something with a sheer bodice?”

The consultant stops mid-sentence, but quickly hides her surprise again and turns to Colin, who nods eagerly. As he lifts his skirt to climb off the pedestal, he promises Cormac, “I’ll be right back.”

“He’s not really going to wear one of those,” Colin’s dad finally grunts, once Colin’s safely out of earshot.

“You wanna tell your son he can’t marry a wizard?” Cormac throws back, knowing full well Colin’s Muggle parents won’t know that robes don’t come in a ball gown silhouette.

“You’re being selfish,” Colin’s father returns, but Colin’s mother just lets out a long sigh and puts a hand on his knee, clearly tying to stop the fight before it starts. To her, Colin’s father splutters, “He is! Our boy would never do something like this on his own!”

“Our boy is a grown man,” the mother reminds him. “And we have to respect his choices. Even if we don’t like them.” And she gives Cormac a knowing look that’s probably supposed to hurt but doesn’t. He’s been on the cover of playwitch seven times. He has enough women adoring him to more than out weigh this one.

The next time Colin comes out, he’s a little faster, and appears in a halter dress with lace appliqué up the sides and across his breast. The bottom is a white satin with a pleated waist; a striking contrast to the softer top. He looks, again, a little off, but once he’s on the pedestal and posing just like Cormac’s shown him, the neckline is more flattering. 

Then Colin turns around to see himself in the mirror, and Cormac gets a look at the open back, dipping all the way down to the waistline, and Cormac decides, “I like it.”

“Really?” Colin asks, peering over his shoulder and trying to twist and see it from all angles. “Is the transition from lace to just fabric too abrupt?”

“We can custom order more lace,” Cormac suggests, pointing vaguely to the middle area. “And maybe some beading to give it that shine.”

“Is the back too much?”

Cormac’s about to explain how he’d love to lick right down Colin’s spine in that number, but Colin’s dad snaps, “You look like a damn girl.”

Colin wrinkles his nose. Luna jumps in, “Oh, but nowadays—”

“He looks good,” Cormac insists, glaring across the couch, because no one talks to his Colin in that tone. Colin’s father returns the glare, the two of them locked in while Colin, in Cormac’s peripherals, looks worriedly at his mother.

She sighs, “It’s just... it’s not really _you_ , Colin.”

Colin wilts. He probably knows but wouldn’t have cared—his fanaticism tends to blanket everything else, and ever since their engagement, he’s as obsessed with a luxurious wedding day as Cormac is. He’d probably walk down the isle in a fishnet jumpsuit if Cormac said it was designer and wanted it. 

Their consultant starts flittering uncomfortably about the dress, fluffing the skirt out as though that’ll help, until Cormac decides Colin’s father isn’t worth his time. He directs to Luna instead, “Could I have a moment with my fiancé in the dressing room?”

Under normal circumstances, Cormac’s sure they wouldn’t allow that, but given that Colin’s parents have nicely set the stage to make it look like Colin needs a pep-talk, Luna smiles brightly and insists, “Of course. I’ll go find some more options.”

“Something with black piping, maybe?” Cormac suggests, knowing full well how few dresses have black accents. “And a blush skirt might be interesting. No more flowers. Let’s stick to halters and high necklines, lots of beading, no mermaids or trumpets, maybe a sheath dress though, and diagonal ruching.” Luna looks at him like he’s crazy, but likely because his budget is unlimited, she quickly covers it and nods as though it’s no trouble. He hopes it takes her an hour to find even one option.

Luna helps Colin get the dress back to the fitting room, down a hall in the back, but she leaves the two of them inside without getting Colin out of the dress, likely because Cormac’s already shutting the door on her. The room is sizeable, easily the largest dressing room Cormac’s ever been in, with a padded turquoise bench, a full mirror on the wall, and a rack with the first and two other dresses hanging on it. As soon as the door’s shut, Cormac taps the handle with his wand, muttering locking and silencing spells. 

Then he turns to Colin with a lecherous grin and a flick of his wrist. Colin gasps, straightening up as the spell winds through him. It’s Cormac’s favourite. Occasionally, he enjoys taking his time on foreplay, but not in public on a time limit, and preparation spells are so much easier. Colin bites his lip to try and stifle a smile and asks, “Really? _Here_?”

Cormac’s already stalking forward. His shoes kick into the full skirt, but he’s not worried—he knows all the best sewing spells and has never been caught yet. He backs Colin right into the wall, while Colin giggles and lifts his little arms to Cormac’s broad shoulders. Colin has an impossibly bright smile, full, white teeth and captivating dimples. There was never any doubt that Cormac needed this smile to be _his_ , to be guaranteed in the rest of his life. The ring on Colin’s finger is diamond-lined but flat for just this reason: so it doesn’t get caught in Cormac’s perfect hair when they’re naughty.

All it takes is one little jump, and Colin’s got his legs up around Cormac’s waist, Cormac pinning his body to the wall, the skirt everywhere. It’s thankfully tulle under the satin overlay, which is much lighter even in its bulk, but the wall does most of the work anyway. Cormac covers Colin’s rosy lips with a kiss as his hands slip under to pull down the white panties he lovingly tucked Colin into this morning. Given the circumstances, he leaves them scrunched down Colin’s thighs and moves on to run greedy hands around the curve of Colin’s plump rear. Colin mewls and squeezes tighter around Cormac’s shoulders. His legs tuck around Cormac’s waist, feet bare so as not to dirty the dresses. He’s always delicious like this.

Threw a slew of hungry kisses, Cormac finds Colin’s puckered entrance twitching and wet, dribbling out onto Cormac’s fingers. He traces the brim and pokes inside, sliding smoothly right up to the knuckle. Colin shudders but takes it, biting lightly at Cormac’s bottom lip and bucking forward. Cormac pulls out only to add a second and goes right back in—he always checks that that spells work, even though they’ve never failed him. He wouldn’t dare rip this piece of beauty. With two inside, he scissors Colin experimentally. When Cormac pulls his fingers loose, Colin turns his head aside to mumble, “Oh, but we’ll stain the dress...”

“We’re wizards, babe,” Cormac reminds him, nipping at his cheek and jaw. “A few spells, and they’ll never know...”

“But it’s so expensive,” Colin giggles, probably understanding the price tag just fine. Cormac really doesn’t care. He hikes Colin up again, earning a little squeak, and diverts both hands to lining his cock up with Colin’s entrance.

He purrs, “My beautiful princess deserves to get fucked in the most exquisite things,” and then he shoves right inside. 

Colin squeals instantly, clamps tight and tosses his head back, letting out a wail that echoes in the smaller room, fingers digging into Cormac’s shoulder blades. Cormac takes it with grit teeth and his own hiss—even with the spell, Colin’s muscles have made it tight again, and Cormac _loves_ the burn. He pushes in anyway, relentless against the insistent squeeze, lured in by the heat and tension. He can feel the delicate tendrils of tulle brushing his stomach and thighs, and seeing Colin in the sheer fabric up top, the lace appliqué just barely hiding his nipples, only spurs Cormac on. He sinks right to the base while Colin _screams_ , and then he wrenches Colin’s head forward by a fistful of blond curls and smashes their mouths together. 

Colin’s so _debauched_ when they fuck. He falls apart so quickly, loses all control and coordination, trembles and pleads whenever Cormac frees his mouth enough for it, and his little hands claw desperately at Cormac’s sturdier form for purchase. Cormac’s practiced, steady, smug—he always enjoys how much he destroys his lover. He controls the movements, dominates the kiss, _owns_ Colin with his movements. He can touch anywhere he likes, lick and squeeze and bite—he could send Colin out covered in hickeys and finger-shaped bruises, and Colin would blush and take it. Holding Colin in tighter by the waist, Cormac bends down to lick over the white lace and find the nubs of Colin’s nipples—they always pebble when Cormac fucks him. Cormac licks right through the fabric, ignoring the bland taste, until the dress is showing two evident tents. Lifting one hand to play with those sensitive buds, Cormac returns to Colin’s mouth, where Colin’s completely flushed pink and drooling a little out the corner of his lips. His eyes are completely dilated and look close to tears. Cormac’s sure he’s finding the right angle and stabs forward without mercy, until he thinks he’s going to come from how _amazing_ Colin feels and looks and needs a break to draw it out.

He pulls out, ignoring Colin’s desperate sob, and spins Colin around, the skirt flying in the air. He slams Colin against the wall again a minute later, this time letting Colin stand, and he pulls Colin’s waist up so that Colin has to stay on tip toes. Cormac bends to flatten his tongue against Colin’s tailbone, digging in to wash out the taste of fabric, then drags straight up, laving over Colin’s spine. Colin makes an absolutely sinful noise that must put the silencing spells to the test. At Colin’s neck, Cormac bites in _hard_ while his hands gather the skirt up. He’s slamming right back into Colin’s hole a second later, wracking out another shriek.

He fucks Colin brutally into the wall without even bothering to touch Colin’s cock. He rarely has to—Colin gets off on the attention alone. But right when his princess is getting close to the end, giving it away with hoarse cries and near-violent trembling, Colin chokes out a sudden, “Stop!” Cormac pauses, and Colin begs, “Please, please, oh—stop!”

Cormac hesitates and nuzzles into Colin’s face, licking the back of his ear and asking, “Why?”

“I-I don’t want to stain the dress,” Colin mumbles, the words slightly slurred as they always are mid-sex for him. 

Cormac snorts, always amused at how often Colin forgets their abilities. He couldn’t imagine _not_ having that instinct. It’s one of the many perks of dating a Muggle-born. Being engaged to one. He hopes Colin has those cute, dopey moments right up to the end. 

He bites Colin’s ear and slams back inside. On the next draw-out, he hisses, “Spells; babe. I _just_ explained that.” Colin just moans. Cormac fucks him harder, if it’s even possible, so it feels like the whole room’s shaking, the dress rustling, Colin arching to try and impale his gorgeous ass more on Cormac’s dick. Colin comes first, like usual, with a torrential cry and his shoulders and fists adorably curled up against the wall. His ass clenches down, and Cormac finally reaches around to pump Colin through it, splattering different layers of tulle.

Colin lets out a choked sob and pushes back, one arm weakly trying to shove Cormac away. With an annoyed grunt, Cormac lets himself pull out, even though _he’s_ still very hard. But he should know better than to doubt his Colin; Colin sinks down between them, the skirt fanning out all around him, the sheer halter top showing a peek right down his chest to his ripe nipples, perked and chafing against their constraints. Colin opens his mouth hopefully, his lips spit-slicked and kiss-swollen and incredibly inviting. Cormac shoves his hard dick right into them. Colin makes a choking noise but takes it, holding wide and letting Cormac slide right to the base in one go. No one takes cock like Colin. He’s had enough practice. He goes sweetly cross-eyed, then closes them and _sucks_ , leaning forward to moan around his prize. It sends a shiver up Cormac’s spine, and he eagerly fucks Colin’s face with all he has. 

It doesn’t take long to come in Colin’s mouth, especially with the bonus sight of Colin done up like the beautiful bride Cormac deserves. As soon as his balls are tightening, he jerks out, ignoring Colin’s whine of dismay, and shoots all over Colin’s face and open mouth. Colin quickly brings his hands up to scoop beneath his chin, protecting the dress, but it’s enough for Cormac to see this. Half their relationship is all aesthetics, and there’s nothing like Colin with a face full of Cormac’s cum. 

When Cormac’s done, he shakes out the last few drops, and Colin obediently lifts to lick it clean just in case. Then he’s pawing at his face, getting all the seed on his fingers to lap up before a cleaning spell can. Even coming down, Cormac enjoys the sight. This is exactly what he wants on his wedding night. 

Except there, he’ll peel Colin down to just the panties and a garter belt after, and he’ll fuck Colin again and again. Colin mumbles around one cum-soaked index finger, “Sorry. I always get so stupid when you fuck me.”

Cormac just laughs and fondly pats Colin’s head. He tucks himself in and just enjoys the view a little more, until Colin’s finally swallowed it all and asks, “Oh, but haven’t we been awhile?”

Cormac turns carelessly towards the door and fishes his wand out of his pants to tap it again—it was a two-way silencing spell. There’s an instant array of banging and worried calls, to which Colin looks horrified and Cormac shouts, “The lock’s stuck!”

“There shouldn’t even be a lock!” the consultant’s muffled voice returns frantically. “I’m so sorry about this!”

“We’re okay,” Cormac assures her. Colin just stays on the floor with wide-eyes. Cormac casts a few spells over him, then the dress, which is probably just stained and not ripped despite the rough treatment—he feels like he would’ve heard a tear. That snaps Colin to life, and he blushes and hurries up to unsteady feet, reaching under to pull his panties back up. 

The second Colin’s presentable—aside from the thoroughly ravished look on his face—Cormac unlocks the door and wrenches it open. The consultant, Colin’s parents, and what must be two managers or other consultants, nearly tumble inside. Luna rights herself first, bursting, “Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened!”

Colin’s parents look like they can figure out exactly what happened, but they’re obviously not about to give their own son away. Colin hovers nervously behind Cormac, and Cormac dons a stern voice to play along, informing Luna tightly, “I’ll forgive it, but only because we really must have a dress today. You’ll have to forgive my fiancé, though—he worked himself into quite a sweat with worry.” The spell got rid of the smell, but Colin’s still flushed and breathing hard. Cormac turns to give his forehead a peck, then marches out and calmly drawls, “Let’s try a corset back next...”


End file.
